


Whatever's Next

by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)



Series: Empathy, Empathy, Put Yourself in the Place of Me [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Empath Stiles Stilinski, Feelings, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death, Off-screen death, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Hale Pack, almost as if this is a fic about an empath, as soon as I start writing tags I have no goddamn idea what my story is about, for all I know this is a yiddish translation of the book of mormon, just so many goddamn feelings you guys, tagging is the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 03:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15698994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somanyofthekids/pseuds/twothumbsandnostakeincanon
Summary: “So it’s like having a period?” Isaac asked, confused.Talia visibly braced herself against a sigh.





	Whatever's Next

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up 3 months later with starbucks*
> 
> This could be alternately titled "Talia Has Too Many Teenagers At Once"

_Two Weeks Later_

“So it’s like having a period?” Isaac asked, confused.

Talia visibly braced herself against a sigh.

“You know what, _yes._ For the purposes of this discussion, it’s like having a period. We’ll talk about the ways it’s not like a period later. For now I want to focus on the full moon.”

Talia was holding another “How To Be a Werewolf 101” class with Isaac and Scott in the living room. She’d brought in a whiteboard this time; the diagrams weren’t helping.

Peter and Stiles were sitting on the floor, Stiles between his legs and leaning against his chest as he doodled on a sketchpad. Peter occasionally leaned forward to subtly scent him while making suggestions about what he should doodle.

“Draw what Scott would look like as a golden retriever,” he said, running his chin along Stiles’ shoulder.

“Scott already looks like a golden retriever,” Stiles said absently.

“I have WEREWOLF HEARING now, you know!” Scott yelled over the back of the couch.

Stiles looked up from his sketchpad with innocently wide eyes. “Golden retrievers are adorable!”

“Damn right they are,” Scott said, crossing his arms and facing Talia again, who was pinching the bridge of her nose.

“You two,” she pointed at Peter and Stiles. “Get out of my classroom, you’re distracting the pups.”

“Oooh, the _pups!”_ Stiles said gleefully. “Please sign my yearbook like that, you guys.”

_“Out!”_

Stiles was still snickering as Peter towed him out of the room and into the yard. The sun was out, the warmth of late spring-early summer shining down on them.

It was the first day Stiles really felt like things might really be calming down since the night Lahey died.

It’d been… intense. Stiles’ 16th birthday had occurred somewhere in the middle of the last couple weeks, but he couldn’t have said exactly when. The first week was a fog of fighting off the loudness and waiting for Scott and Isaac to wake up. Then they _had_ woken up, and it was an immediate fight for control, with Isaac’s whiplash emotions of grief and relief that his father was dead, and-

It was intense, and Stiles pretty much stuck to Peter like glue to get through it.

Funny thing about that, though. Turns out it’s possible to be roommates with an elephant and still never speak of him.

Stiles had a feeling that Peter was waiting for him to start. Waiting for Stiles to reach a plateau from the events surrounding his homecoming, so that they could have a calm, clear headed discussion about Peter’s absence and the shift in their relationship.

He hadn’t yet.

“What should I draw out here?” he asked Peter.

“Hm,” Peter looked around the yard. “That tree,” he pointed to a crooked coniferous-something.

“Mm, no. Something else.”

“Draw the grill on the deck.”

“No.”

“Oh my God, why did you ask for a suggestion if you’re just going to turn everything down?”

“Give me a good one and I won’t turn it down!”

“Fine, draw that fairy ring,” he gestured to the fungus in the grass over at the edge of where the lawn turned into forest. Stiles’ eyes brightened.

“See, I knew you could do it!” He smacked a light kiss on his cheek while Peter sighed, aggrieved but fond.

He spent the next hour or so sketching the fairy ring, while Peter lay in the grass next to him, not quite asleep. Eventually, Stiles poked him with the end of his pen.

“Peter, I finished the mushrooms, look.”

Peter sat up and rubbed his eyes, squinting at the white paper against the sunlight.

The mushrooms were there, sketched out with enough detail to see they were the same ones from the yard. Good shading, excellent depth. The fairy king in the middle looked awfully familiar too.

“You made me look like Galadriel,” he said, stifling a yawn and handing the pad back to Stiles.

“I know,” Stiles said happily. “She’s so badass. It was gonna be either Galadriel or Alfrid, and I thought you’d appreciate Galadriel more.”

Peter snorted. “I met a man who looked like Alfrid in Poland,” he said, unkindly thinking of the rude café owner at The Settlement. “Mrs. Nowak was more like Smaug."

Stiles looked over curiously. “Mrs. Nowak was the woman you stayed with, right?”

“Yes. She had a lot, and I do mean _a lot_ , of information about empaths. I should really start to organize my notes,” he said thoughtfully.

“Can I see them?” Stiles asked eagerly.

Peter looked at him cautiously.

“Yes... but we should probably talk first. Are you ready for that?”

Stiles hesitated, and before he could say anything, Peter’s phone rang. His breath rushed out of him, pathetically grateful to be saved from having to respond.

“You should answer it,” he told Peter.

Peter eyed him like he knew exactly what Stiles was thinking, which he probably did, but picked up his phone anyway.

“Hey Chris,” Peter said.

“Victoria’s dead.”

Peter knew Stiles must have felt his shock, because he looked up sharply.

“Shit. Chris, I’m sorry-”

“Allison and I are coming back to America. We don’t- we can’t stay here. It was a whole mess- she was- the Council caught up to her and she killed herself rather than be taken in. Allison knows about everything now.” Chris’ voice sounded exhausted to the point of being emotionless. “We’re coming to Beacon Hills, we’ve got nowhere else to go. There’s no one else- I asked Allison, and she said she wants to be near Stiles. I know-” he cut himself off for a moment, clearly gathering his thoughts.

“I know you and Victoria didn’t get along. Just tell me now so I have time to process it; did you know what she was involved in?”

“If she killed herself rather than be taken in,” Peter said slowly, “I don’t think I knew the full scope. I only knew she was supplying blood to some of the local covens,” he said honestly.

There was an extended moment of silence. “Okay,” Chris finally said. “I’ll let you know when we’re in town.” He hung up without saying goodbye.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asked anxiously immediately after Peter lowered the phone.

“Allison and Chris are moving to Beacon Hills,” he said, trying to decide what he should tell Stiles and what he should allow Allison to tell Stiles. “Victoria… was involved in some… unsavory business. The Hunter Council caught up with her and she killed herself. Allison knows now.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, rubbing a hand down his face. So much for their first calm, relaxing day. “I should go tell Talia.” He stood up and dropped a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head before going inside.

Stiles continued staring at the fairy ring.

Fuck, how was Allison going to feel when she arrived?

* * *

“Argents in our territory,” Talia muttered as she shook her head. “I’m not necessarily okay with this, Peter.”

“Chris is a good man,” Peter said quietly. “A little blind when it comes to those he loves, but who isn’t?”

Talia looked at him with her brow furrowed.

“How much time did you spend with the Argents, again?”

“About seven months,” Peter answered with a sigh. “Five months in I knew she was stealing blood and selling it to a coven, but-” he rubbed his forehead. “If that’s all the council had on her, I don’t think she would have killed herself. I have no idea what else she was involved in.”

Talia nodded absently. “You met up with Christopher on accident, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I ran into him at the train station.”

Talia looked at him keenly. “So that wasn’t your purpose in leaving.”

Peter sighed again. With the baby wolves getting settled, it was probably time for this conversation anyway.

“No, it wasn’t. Do you want to ask me questions, or for me to just tell you the whole story?”

Talia leaned back in her chair and steepled her fingers. “Lay it down. I’ll interrupt you when I need to.”

“I’m sure you will.” He blew out a breath. “I’m in love with Stiles.”

“What the _fuck?”_ Talia burst out, face pale.

“That’s just the beginning, hold on.” He went on to explain everything. The romantic versus sexual attraction, what he’d learned about the connection between an empath and a mute, his and Stiles’ last argument before he came home.

He pressed on until the end, finally saying, “And even though all he wanted was to talk, he hasn’t brought it up since I arrived.” He pursed his lips. “Scott and Isaac’s bite were hard on him. I don’t want to push, but…”

Talia was still staring at him.

“Are you asking me for relationship advice for your mystical connection with a sixteen year old that we essentially adopted three years ago? Because I don’t know if I can help with that,” she finally said, still apparently shocked. She rubbed a hand over her mouth. “Jesus, Peter. You’re sure it’s okay for you to be here now? You’re not-” She cut herself off, clearly not wanting to say what she was thinking.

Peter sighed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” he said bluntly. Talia cringed. “I want to hold him, I want to scent him, I want to make his life as comfortable as possible- I do want to kiss him. That’s one of the things I expect to speak about with him whenever that happens.” He sat back in his chair, tired. “Mom knows. Mom knew from the beginning. If you tell Joseph, that’s three of Stiles’ guardians aware of what’s going on- who can watch and monitor and ensure that everything Miss Nowak told me is true.  

“... You realize we have to tell John.”

Peter’s mouth set in a grim line.

“If anyone but Stiles tries to tell John, Stiles is going to rip them an entirely new asshole.”

Talia gave him a flat look.

“God, I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You two are perfect for each other.”

Peter shrugged.

“I imagine John will have several questions and six backup plans for my quiet murder. At least.”

“Hm. Yes.” Talia looked at her baby brother again. “You know Stiles has probably already forgiven you for all of it, right? He might not understand, but he’s forgiven you. And yeah, you probably should have talked to him about it sooner, but you had to go. Really. If you hadn’t left on your own, I would have asked you to, for at least a little while.”

“Yeah,” Peter said unconvincingly. Talia reached out picked up his hand, squeezing it.

“I’m going to send the pups back to school tomorrow. Things will settle down, and then I’m sure Stiles will be ready to talk.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You think they’re ready to go back to school?’

“I haven’t been able to teach them anything new in four days, so I really really hope so.”

* * *

“What the hell is that _smell?”_ Scott said with a gag. 

“The delightful olfactory experience of high school,” Cora cheerfully replied. “It never gets less gross. I’m gonna go make out with my girlfriend, try not to eat anyone.”

Scott, Isaac and Stiles watched her walk away and greet Lydia with a kiss.

“What??” Scott whispered, panicked. “No! No no!! What if we lose control? She’s the only one who can take us down!”

“Come on dude, you really think Talia would let you come back if she didn’t think you could handle it?” Stiles said with a slap to Scott and Isaac’s back. “You guys’ll be fine. Just hold hands and remember the power of wolfy love, or whatever it is she told you to do."

Scott looked at him disbelievingly as Isaac glanced between them nervously, but they all headed inside anyway.

The day actually went surprisingly smoothly. Scott popped a claw once during lunch, and Isaac’s brown eyes went several shades lighter for a moment during Chem, but overall, Stiles was proud of them.

Until the end of lacrosse practice.

Stiles hung around with his sketch pad after school, keeping an eye on Scott and Isaac while practicing motion illustration and occasionally writing down Finstock’s more precious advice with a snort.

He casually followed them into the locker room afterwards, wondering if his dad had his schedule for the next week yet. They hadn’t had dinner together in a few-

Stiles’ head snapped up at the sound of a low growl. Scott was staring at Isaac, who was shirtless and frozen, staring right back at Scott. The boys around them hadn’t noticed anything yet, but if someone’s eyes started flashing- and there went Scotts’, _shit._

“Woah, woah, put away the headlights! What’s going on here?” Stiles reflexively keyed into the empathic atmosphere around him and his mouth dropped open.

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” he hissed at Scott, grabbing a t-shirt and throwing it at Isaac. “Put your teeth away and keep it in your goddamn pants for another five minutes.”

Scott either didn’t hear him or willfully ignored him, his only reaction being waves of lust rolling in Isaac’s direction.

“Scott, dude, snap out of it,” Stiles said desperately, glancing around to see if they’d attracted any attention yet. He saw Scott take a step forward out of the corner of his eye, and Stiles’ hand snapped out, grabbing his wrist. Scott immediately spun to face him, snarling.

“Calm the _fuck_ down,” Stiles bit out. “Calming thoughts dude. Completely non-horny, non-wolfy, chill thoughts.” He gripped Scott’s arm tighter, willing him to stop wolfing out and relax.

The tense line flowed from Scott’s shoulders, making him slump lower and lower- and then right onto the floor. Mouth slack and eyes closed, he was still breathing, but also very, very unconscious. Stiles stared down at him in shock. The crowd around them finally noticed something was wrong, and Finstock’s office door banged open a moment later.

“What the hell is going on here? What happened to McCall? Has he got mono?” He turned on Isaac. “Did you give him mono?”

Isaac was still staring at Scott in shock, clearly struggling to keep a lid on his own transformation. Stiles butt in to answer instead.

“He just got a little overheated, Coach Finstock.”

“You don’t play lacrosse, I’m not your coach. I’m your gay advisor.”

“He just got a little overheated, Gay Advisor Finstock,” Stiles barrelled on, not pausing for breath. “It happens, a side effect of those experimental asthma treatments he did over spring break, it’s fine, he’s fine, maybe we could just give him a little space.” He pointedly looked at the crowd of half changed boys around them.

“Clear out!” Finstock barked at the players, starting to push them back. “Get dressed and go home, you’re smelling up the place!”

Isaac finally came forward, pulling on the shirt and kneeling down next to his boyfriend.

“What happened?” he whispered frantically. “Why’s he unconscious?”

“I don’t know, I maybe might have knocked him out?” Stiles said, voice getting progressively higher. When Isaac stared at him, it shot up another half octave. “I don’t know! Help me wake him up!”

Isaac stooped lower over Scott’s face, brushing a thumb over his cheek. “Maybe we should just put him in the car and take him back to Talia?” he suggested. “Quick, before Finstock comes back.”

They got him hefted up between them (Isaac doing most of the work) and put him in the backseat of Isaac's car.

By the time they arrived back at the Hales’, Scott’s heart rate was slowly starting to pick back up and he was showing signs of wakefulness. Stiles jumped out and opened the door to let more fresh air in, murmuring, “Come on buddy, wake up, wake up and we don’t have to tell Talia about this-”

“What secrets are we keeping from Talia?”

Stiles’ arms flailed, nearly smacking Peter in the face as he whirled around.

“Jesus!”

“No, Peter.”

Stiles frowned. “Ugh. You’re just the _worst._ And Scott’s unconscious. That’s the secret we’re keeping from Talia.”

“Oooh, I love secrets!” said Talia as she came down the porch steps. “Especially ones I’m not supposed to know. It’s so relaxing not to know things. Why don’t I know that Scott’s unconscious?”

Stiles planted his face in both hands. Peter rubbed between his shoulder blades consolingly.

“He flipped out after practice,” Isaac blurted. “I was-” he paused, turning pink. “I was uh, changing? And he-”

“He put his dick in charge of his shift,” Stiles cut in, talking into his hands. “He saw his boyfriend shirtless in the locker room, and started growling and flashing his eyes and losing his grip.”

“It was the probably the smell, actually,” Peter said lazily, continuing to comfortingly rub Stiles’ back. “Pheromones.”

“Whatever,” Stiles waved his hand impatiently, finally looking up. “I was trying to get him to calm down, and I grabbed his arm to hold him back from mauling Isaac, you know, in the sexy way, and I just- I just wanted him to calm down!” he finished helplessly.

“S’iles?” Scott slurred from the backseat. Everyone looked in to see him struggling to get upright. “‘Saac? Where’s- lockers?” He yawned and rubbed an eye.

“Oh thank God,” Stiles said, relief in every inch of his body. “I thought I put you in a coma, dude.”

Scott just looked confused.

Talia sighed and pointed at him and Isaac.

“You two are staying home from school again tomorrow. Apparently we need to work on more control. You,” she pointed at Peter, “are the only person here who possibly knows what’s going on with Stiles. Take him upstairs and go through your notes with him.”

“Yes, Alpha,” Peter drawled, taking Stiles by the hand and leading him away.

Talia ignored her brother’s impertinent tone, knowing he would do as she asked. She stared at her two new wolves and sighed again.

“Alright. I guess let’s go practice not thinking with our genitals.”

* * *

“I didn’t mean to,” Stiles repeated as they reached Peter’s room. “I wasn’t even trying to do anything, I just wanted him to calm down-” 

“I know sweetheart,” Peter soothed.

“-but I forced him unconscious! I knocked him out, Peter! That’s a hell of a lot more than ‘calm!’”

“Yes, it appears that you’re gaining some intense projective empathy skills as you age.”

“I WOULD NOT CONSIDER IT A SKILL,” Stiles hollered, “WHEN I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW I’M DOING IT.”

Peter fell into an armchair after closing the door, tugging Stiles into his lap and wrapping him up in his arms. They sat quietly for a few minutes, Peter gently cuddling him close.

“You seem… disproportionately upset over preventing your best friend from outing the existence of werewolves, even if the method was accidental,” Peter eventually suggested softly. The words sat in the room, patiently waiting to be acknowledged by Stiles. Eventually he spoke.

“I killed Mr. Lahey, didn’t I?”

Quiet reigned again for a moment as Peter considered everything he knew about that night, and everything he knew about Stiles.

“Let me ask you a question,” Peter said slowly. “A man runs into a building that’s on fire, and has a heart attack when the ceiling caves in on him. What killed him? The fire, the heart attack, or the ceiling?”

Stiles shrugged. “All three I guess,” he said.

“No, his decision to enter a building that was on fire is what killed him,” Peter answered. “Mr. Lahey’s decision to murder two teenagers is what sealed his fate. If you hadn’t stopped him from exiting the house, he would have bled out in minutes from Talia’s wound anyway. If Talia hadn’t gutted him, someone else from the pack would have hunted him down and done it. If he somehow escaped the pack completely and fled the state, then federal law enforcement would have gotten involved. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“... not really.”

“I’m saying that while you may have been one part of the mode of his death, you are not the reason he’s dead,” Peter clarified.

“I scared him,” Stiles said quietly, leaning his head down on Peter’s shoulder. “I pushed every kind of terror and panic I could think of, and it made his heart bleed out so fast. I thought he’d killed Scott and Isaac, and I wanted him to hurt for it.” His confession was whispered by the end.

“If you’re looking for condemnation, Stiles, you won’t find it from me,” Peter said bluntly. “Do you remember what I did to the warlock that kidnapped you? Or what your father did to Gerard Argent?”

Stiles nodded silently.

“Whether or not what any of us did can be considered moral or justifiable isn’t a question I particularly care about. I care about whether my pack is safe. I care about an eye for an eye. All the fear you gave Mr. Lahey that night- do you think it was anything less than what Mr. Lahey gave Isaac over the course of his life?”

“An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind,” Stiles quoted in a mumble.

“Nah, most people learn their lesson once their depth perception is gone.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, and Peter twitched a smile at him.

“In all seriousness, you should probably bring it up with Sarah. She won’t give you any more answers than I can, but she can probably help you work out your own. In the meantime, let’s see what we can find in my notes about projective empathy, shall we?”

Without dumping Stiles from his lap, Peter reached out and grabbed his laptop from the desk. He set it on the arm of his chair and started digging through the files.

“Hm… it says here that projective empathy can show up in late puberty…” Peter said, scrolling down.

“Why wasn’t that included in the ‘Your Body and You’ pamphlet, along with armpit hair?” Stiles grumbled.

“You should write the pamphlet authors and demand it be included in the next printing,” Peter suggested absently.

“I just might. Wait, stop there. ‘The presence of an Empath’s Mute is very helpful for learning control of minor adjustments in projective empathy.’ What the fuck is a mute?” Stiles wondered out loud.

“Me. I’m a mute.”

“You’ve never been mute in your life,” Stiles said skeptically. “Savage Grandma said you were born with a sarcastic comment about uterus accommodations.”

“No, I’m an Empathic Mute. _Your_ empathic mute, specifically.” Peter looked at Stiles cautiously. “This would be one of the things we need to talk about. Capital T Talk.”

Stiles fidgeted on Peter’s lap for a moment before getting up and pacing a few steps away.

“Okay,” he said, blowing out a breath. “Let’s capital T Talk.”

Peter sat back in his chair and watched Stiles tensely pace.

“Why are you so reluctant to talk now?” he finally asked, unable to stop himself. “When we argued on the phone, all you wanted to do was talk.”

“I’m not- _reluctant_ isn’t the right word. I’m-” Stiles chewed on his lip for a moment. “Scared, I guess. It’s just-” he rubbed a frustrated hand over his mouth, eyes flicking to Peter and away. “You were gone for a long time, Peter. And I was so angry, and I still don’t understand...” he drifted off, continuing to pace.

“Alright, that’s what the talking is for. What don’t you understand?”

“Why you had to leave!” Stiles threw up his hands. “Okay, I get the fear, I really think I do. I was even younger then, and I can see how romantic feelings would freak you out. But- God, I missed you so much, Peter. You said you left so you wouldn’t interfere in my life, but I _wanted_ your interference in my life.”

“I don’t think,” Peter said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “you would have wanted the kind of interference I felt inclined to give. I was violently jealous, Stiles.”

Stiles raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re always kind of violent.”

Peter smiled wryly. “Violently jealous is a different game from my usual. When I was in France, every time you talked about your little girlfriend,” his mouth twisted in distaste, “I wanted to come back to Beacon Hills and forcibly remove her from your life.”

Stiles looked bewildered. “Heather- I mean, she was a nice girlfriend, but she never meant as much to me as you do.”

“She still got to experience a part of you that I couldn’t, and that I desperately wanted.”

Stiles still looked confused.

“But- you’re more important.”

Peter’s eyes softened. “I know. I certainly know that now. But you’ve felt extreme jealousy like that before, haven’t you? From other people, if not yourself.”

“Yeah… it’s different, when it from an outside source.” Stiles frowned at himself. “Do you still feel jealous of her?”

Peter got up from the armchair coming over to Stiles and slowly drawing him into his arms.

“I feel jealous that she got some of your firsts. Same with the Mahelani kid. I feel jealous that they got to spend time with you when I had essentially exiled myself, but that was my choice.” He leaned his head forward to rub his cheek against Stiles’ as Stiles wrapped his own arms around Peter’s waist. “However, I fully expect that if I’m ever exiled again, you’ll be coming with me. And I suppose I can live with not having your firsts, so long as I get you from here on out.”

Stiles pressed his face into Peter’s shirt, hiding a smile.

“Nerd,” he mumbled.

 _“Your_ nerd,” Peter emphasized. “We really need to talk more about the Empath and Mute aspect.”

Stiles pulled back to look at him.

“Yeah, what about that? ‘Cause you’re making it sound like we’re soulmates or something.”

Peter looked away uncomfortably.

“Oh my God, we’re _soulmates?”_ Stiles asked, dumbfounded.

“Not exactly,” Peter hedged. “Here, come listen to my recording of Miss Nowak and Zenya talking about it.”

Thirty minutes later, Stiles closed the audio player on Peter’s computer as they sat next to each other on the bed.

“Miss Nowak’s rude as hell,” he said with a frown.

“I preferred it, really. Better rude and completely honest than polite and half truthful.”

“Polite and completely honest aren’t mutually exclusive,” Stiles said, clearly gearing up for a debate, but Peter cut him off.

“What about what she said? How do you feel about… all of it?”

Stiles shrugged. “It makes sense. We fit together really well.”

Peter looked at him cautiously. “... You’re not worried about it?”

Now Stiles returned the cautious look. “Why would I be worried about it?”

“The whole idea of our relationship being predestined. You don’t feel like you’ve had choices taken from you?”

“But I haven’t had any choices taken from me,” Stiles protested. “Obviously I _could_ choose to date someone else because I _have._ And the choice of whether or not to fall in love with you never even really existed, did it? I was always going to love you. That’s not something anyone else gets a choice about either. You love who you love.”

Peter squinted at him, staring closely.

“You’re really not upset about this?”

“Do you _want_ me to be upset about this?” Stiles asked exasperatedly.

“A little, yes! I was upset about it! I’m not anymore, but I _was.”_

One glance of the hurt look on Stiles’ face had him backpedaling.

“Not- no, it was never that I didn’t _want_ to be your soulmate,” he hurriedly explained. “When I first learned of it, it felt like- like they were telling me that I was destined to hurt you.” Stiles caught a rare wave of emotion from Peter, completely filled with distress. He scooted closer.

“You felt like if we were soulmates, you’d be taking something from me. My choice,” Stiles clarified, his brow smoothing with understanding.

“Yes!”

Stiles cupped Peter’s face in his hands, and Peter closed his eyes.

“I do have a choice. I’m choosing you.” He leaned forward cautiously and dropped a light kiss on Peter’s lips before pulling back. “Deal with it, sucker.”

Peter leaned forward again, burying his face in Stiles’ neck and inhaling.

“I love you, Stiles.”

“I love you too.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“... does this projective empathy thing mean I get to skip school tomorrow too?”

* * *

Two days later, his dad had the night off, so they had dinner together.

Well, that was the plan, anyway.

It got a little delayed when Stiles walked in to the kitchen and blurted out “Peter and I are soulmates and I made Scott faint with projective empathy, which is something I apparently have but don’t really know how to control yet.”

John stared at him for a moment before slowly setting down his knife and the pepper he was chopping.

“... Is Scott okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. He woke up after like twenty minutes.”

“... Does Peter know you think you’re his soulmate?”

“Okay, so, here’s the thing about that-”

Stiles slapped a thumb drive down on the counter.

“That’s it. That’s the thing. It has all the information Peter got from The Settlement when he was in Poland, with a bunch of different empaths and their mutes. Not all of them are married? Like, some are platonic. But most are married. Peter and I definitely the marrying kind. Eventually.”

John had a fleeting moment of wishing he still drank before firmly pushing it away and picking up the thumb drive.

“... Alright. Why don’t you go get my laptop?”

Except John didn’t actually get to the thumb drive that night. Once he and Stiles were seated next to each other at the kitchen table with the laptop, Stiles started talking and didn’t stop.

“-he realized he was in love with me, which _obviously_ I knew-”

“Wait, you knew an adult man was in love with you and you didn’t say anything to anyone?” John asked, feeling a pit in his stomach.

“Well-” Stiles stopped. “I knew _Peter_ was in love with me. He’s not just ‘an adult man’. He’s _Peter,”_ Stiles said with emphasis, as if that explained everything.

John supposed that to Stiles, it did. He rubbed a hand down his face.

“Anyway, that’s why he left.” Stiles went quiet for a brief moment. John knew Stiles had missed him. He’d wondered occasionally if Peter left to get away from his son’s crush, but apparently-

“He says he was violently jealous and wanted to remove himself from the situation,” Stiles continued with a furrow in his brow.

“But now he’s back,” John confirmed.

“Yeah. He came back after- after Scott and Isaac. Well, before that actually, but he didn’t arrive until after. We had a fight on the phone.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Because he left. Because he wouldn’t talk to me,” Stiles explained.

“Tell me you didn’t yell at him for leaving,” John said flatly.

Stiles set his jaw stubbornly.

“He didn’t have to!”

“Yes, he did, Stiles,” John said disbelievingly. “Not only would I, and probably Talia, have made him leave, at least for a little while so we could sort out what’s really happening, but-” John cut himself off for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“If this really is some kind of- of supernatural empathy soulmate business- and I’m not really doubting that, son- but if it is, would you honestly have wanted Peter to just hang around you, hurting all the time?”

Stiles looked dumbfounded.

“Why would he be hurting? We would have been _together!_ That’s the opposite of hurting!!”

John shook his head.

“Watching someone you love explore options with other people- it hurts, Stiles. Jealousy and envy and- God help me as I say this about a 27 year old man in reference to my 16 year old son- _longing_ are all painful emotions. You know this, kid.” He looked closely at Stiles.

“But- you don’t know he would have felt like that,” Stiles protested. “He’s always been more important to me. If he’d been here, I could have told him-”

“That doesn’t always stop the feelings. You wanted to date around, right? You wanted to gain some experience.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said slowly.

“And you expected Peter to just watch you do that? That would have been incredibly cruel, Stiles."

Stiles’ mouth dropped open.

“What?!”

John gave him a long look.

“Just think about it for a while, son.”

They did eventually eat dinner, and then John drove Stiles back to the Hale’s. He came inside the house and briefly went into Talia’s study, but for less time than Stiles expected. When he came back out he gave Stiles a hug and a kiss on the forehead, and then left.

As soon as the front door closed, he cautiously poked his head in Talia’s office door. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow.

“... We good?”

Talia cracked a smile, shaking her head at him.

“Yeah, we’re good. He simply made a point of telling me that he trusts us, and you, with the situation. And he gave a reminder that if we fail that trust, then we’ll deeply regret it in every way he holds power to make us regret it.”

Stiles came all the way in the office, but just barely, leaning up against the wall next to the door. He was silent for long enough that Talia returned to her documents.

“Would you really have made Peter leave, if you’d known?” he eventually asked.

“Yes,” Talia replied without hesitation.

Stiles nodded absently, expecting the answer by now.

“How do you think he would have handled Heather, if he’d been here?”

This time Talia took a moment before answering.

“Peter was three when Laura was born. Suddenly she was taking up all the attention, when _he’d_ been the focus of everyone’s cooing and smiles before.” She paused again. “He didn’t try to hurt her. He didn’t try to get rid of her. He just got very quiet. So quiet that we no longer always knew when he was in the room with us, so we often just assumed he was there. Then one day we looked for him, and he wasn’t.”

Stiles’ chest clenched at the thought of Tiny Peter wandering off alone.

“We found him in the preserve. Crying, snot everywhere, but still whole. We asked him what he was doing, what his plan was, and he shrugged. Said he just needed to go.” Talia pinned Stiles with a serious look. “Peter turns to violence often. He’ll tell you it’s his first impulse. It’s not. When something truly heavy is on the line, something capable of really hurting him, his first impulse is to disappear.”

Stiles swallowed loudly.

“So when you ask how he would have handled Heather, the answer is exactly how it already happened. Because what lay in the balance was deeply important to him."

* * *

First the Hales heard the car, and then Stiles felt the hollow grief.

The Argents knocked on the door eight minutes later.

Peter answered, drawing Chris into a stiff hug as soon as it opened. Allison hovered slightly behind him until Stiles shoved past the other two to pull her into their own, much softer and comfortable hug.

“Come in,” Peter said eventually, leading them all into the living room. “I thought you said you’d let me know when you arrived?”

“I’ve arrived,” Chris said flatly. He rubbed his chin, looking around the living room with sharp, but tired eyes. He sighed. “I decided to kill two birds with one stone. Well,” he glanced back at Allison and Stiles, who were hugging again. “Three birds. Let you know we’re in town, ask for an audience with your Alpha for a formal residence agreement, and let Allison see Stiles.”

Peter frowned a bit. “Residence agreement? Not a local hunter’s treaty?”

“No,” Chris said shortly. “The council didn’t- if I can’t look after what’s happening in my own home, then I can’t look after an entire town, now can I?”

Peter pursed his lips. Keeping people safe from supernatural danger- there was only one thing more important than that to Chris, and she was currently _still_ hugging Stiles.

“I can speak with Talia,” he said quietly. “Her opinion carries weight with the council-”

“No.” Chris said it with such finality that Peter actually leaned back from the force of it. “No,” he said again, more calmly. “We’re here to restart.”

Peter tried to parse out what Chris truly felt about that, but he wasn’t Stiles. If Chris didn’t want him to know, then Peter wouldn’t know.

“Alright. Let’s go see if Talia’s free,” he said.

A few feet over, Stiles and Allison finally pulled apart, both of their eyes slightly red rimmed.

“So,” Allison said with a sniff. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re a psychic. Who does that?”

Stiles huffed a little laugh.

“I’m an empath, not really psychic. Or like, a variant of psychic I guess. Come on, you’ve been all the way in fuck-off France for our entire friendship, we have to go make up for lost snuggle time.”

He dragged her over to his room and left the door cracked open so that Peter would be able to find them once he and Chris were done with whatever they were up to.

Once they were settled next to each other on the bed, Allison’s head on his shoulder, she said, “So this whole house is full of werewolves?”

“Yep. Except me, and you and your dad, obviously. Most of the Hale family is. ” He reached out and grabbed her hand, palm to palm.

“And, you live with them-”

“Just because my dad had an alcohol problem,” Stiles said simply. They’d talked about that before. “That’s it. Nothing to do with the werewolf thing.”

“... The werewolf thing,” Allison echoed distantly. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Whenever you want to talk, I’ll be here to listen,” Stiles said eventually. “That’s not a deadline, there’s no stipulations on what kind of talk- if you want to talk, I’ll be here okay? You don’t have to say anything now, I just want you to know.”

Allison squeezed his hand a little tighter, but over the course of the next thirty minutes, the only thing she said was, “I can’t believe werewolves are fucking real.”

She did say it twice, though.

When Peter and Chris came to find them, Stiles felt an immediate wave of suspicion directed at him.

“I have a boyfriend, Mr. Argent,” he volunteered with a quirk of a smile, firmly keeping his eyes from flicking to Peter.

That particular conversation was probably one Peter would prefer to have with Christopher on his own terms.

Chris folded his arms uncomfortably as Allison exasperatedly said _“Daaad.”_

“I didn’t actually say anything,” he protested.

“And usually I wouldn’t respond to an emotion by itself,” Stiles said with a shrug, “but I figured you’ve probably had a long day. You could use the reassurance. So: I am in no way interested in, I don’t know, stealing Allison’s virtue.” He turned to Allison thoughtfully. “Do you _have_ any virtue to steal?”

“Please, for the sake of my entire life, don’t answer that,” Chris said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “We actually need to go, Allison. We need to pick up groceries and get more of the apartment unpacked.”

Allison reluctantly got up from the bed, Stiles moving after her to give her one last hug.

“Thanks Stiles,” she said quietly. “I’ll see you soon?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “Now we can facetime each other from across the room!”

Her smile was a ghost of the dimpled masterpiece Stiles was used to seeing, but she still gave it to him before leaving.

Peter walked them to the front door, and came back up to see Stiles still standing in the middle of his room. He slowly stepped in, hands in his pockets.

“If I asked you how they were feeling, would you tell me?”

Stiles shrugged.

“I couldn’t tell you anything you couldn’t guess,” he said. “Bad. A lot of different variations of bad and guilty and grieving.”

Peter nodded, distracted by his own thoughts of worry for his friend before remembering.

“So you have a boyfriend, huh?” he said with a crooked smile, sauntering up to Stiles.

He grinned cheekily over at Peter.

“Yeah. I thought maybe ‘I’m magically destined to spend my life with your werewolf friend so you don’t need to worry about me making a move on your daughter’ might be a bit much."

Peter huffed a laugh and drew Stiles in for a loose hug, draping his arms around his waist.

“Probably a good judgement call.” 

* * *

There was only a month left in the school year, so Allison wouldn’t be starting until the next fall. That didn’t stop her from showing up to lacrosse games with everyone, though.

The first time Lydia and Allison met, Lydia eyed her up and down critically, and Stiles had a tense moment of wondering if maybe high school stereotypes were going to be right for once.

Then Lydia took her arm and announced,  “I _love_ your jacket, you _have_ to tell me where you got it.”

“Oh,” Allison said, surprised by the sudden contact. She glanced back at Stiles, who shrugged and nodded encouragingly. “I got it at a boutique in France. All my clothes are from France, actually, since I just moved here. They have an online shop, though, if you want the name. ”

“Absolutely,” Lydia said decisively, directing Allison and leading the group to the field level row of the bleachers, as close to the players as one could get. She gave a murderous look to a kid frozen in the act of moving the reserved cushion she’d placed there earlier, and the kid scampered off.

“If you like shopping, we absolutely have to go together sometime,” Lydia continued, as if she hadn’t just put the fear of God into a freshman. Stiles bit his lip to hold back a grin as he felt how impressed Allison was. “My girlfriend doesn’t enjoy shopping at all. She plays second home on the team and honestly falls into every jock-girl stereotype. It’s adorable, but don’t ever tell her I said that. Anyway, I need someone to shop with if I don’t want to make her miserable- speak of the devil!”

Lydia leaned over the fence to plant a solid kiss on Cora, who’d sprung up right in front of them.

“Oh _that_ kind of girlfriend,” Allison murmured.

Stiles elbowed her, and whispered back, “Cora’s a Hale.”

Allison’s eyes widened after a moment, realizing that Cora would have heard her.

“Cora, have you met Allison?” Lydia said, reaching back to link arms with her again. Cora’s game face was on full force, but her gaze lingered between them.

“No,” she said, voice a little cold

Stiles could feel sharp nervousness from Allison, and was halfway off the bench when she blurted out, “I’m straight!”

Stiles slapped a hand to his forehead.

“But I love lesbians! And gays. And-”

“Uh-huh,” Cora interrupted, voice distant and face still flat before checking her shoulder pads one more time. “I gotta go. Two of Midvale’s defenders are out sick so we have to change a couple of plays. One more kiss babe?”

Lydia obligingly leaned back over the fence to give her another, and then Cora rejoined her team.

Stiles was trying to hide his laugh in his palm when Allison came to sit next to him again.

“‘I’m straight but I love lesbians?’” he quoted back at her.

Allison hid her face in her hands.

“First I was worried she’d think I was hitting on her girlfriend, and then I was worried that I sounded homophobic-”

Stiles fought down a smile as he consolingly rubbed her shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, she wasn’t listening to a word you said. She’s way in the zone right now. If an asteroid hit the town on a game day, Cora wouldn’t notice. You’ll definitely have to re-introduce yourself after the game.”

Allison looked up at him anxiously, and Stiles gave her another pat on the back.

“You should join the GSA next year though,” he said consideringly. “You could be the first straight member of our Gay-Straight Alliance.”

Lydia leaned over to insert, “Oh God, _please_ join. If it will get Stiles to stop calling it the ‘Gay Guild’ or ‘Queer Club’ or ‘LGBT League’ then _please.”_

“Come on,” Stiles protested. “Which is going to catch the attention of colleges more; ‘I started a local chapter of GSA,’” he said in a flat, mopey voice, “or ‘I was responsible for the founding of the revolutionary ‘GAY GUILD!’” He finished with jazz hands.

“Oh, you started it?” Allison asked Lydia.

Pointedly ignoring Stiles, Lydia started telling Allison about her various extracurriculars and their rank of importance on a resumé.

Stiles took the moment to look a few rows behind them, where the rest of the Hales usually sat. Talia and Savage Grandma were sharing a plate of nachos while Joseph took far more pictures than necessary with his phone (especially considering the game hadn’t even started yet.)

Peter was there too, sitting next to Allison’s dad. They were talking, and as Stiles paid attention, he could feel a slight loosening of the knot that lived inside Chris Argent.

Peter looked happy and relaxed too, enjoying the conversation.

Stiles turned back around, looking out at the field, wondering who in the stands was causing the hot pit of feeling in his stomach.

* * *

Grief is an unusual beast. Stiles was intimately familiar with it, both from personal experience and through his gifts. Some people refer to dealing with grief as “recovery from grief,” but Stiles had never found that a particularly accurate phrase. “Recovery” implies that the new hole in your life will be filled in again, just as it was before.

“Healing” is more accurate. The person you are grieving is still absent, and always will be; but you cope, and you handle, and you grow stronger, and one day you can embrace the grief and then immediately let it go, continuing with your day. The grief becomes an opportunity to hug a memory, rather than a load to carry.

But healing takes time, and effort, and help from others.

Stiles had to remind himself of this every time Chris Argent showed up to the Hales.

He loved having Allison around, don’t get him wrong. But she wasn’t even here right now. Did Chris really need to spend so much time with Peter? They’d already lived together for seven months last year; shouldn’t Chris be expanding his social circle? Surely Chris had to have more than one friend, right? Who didn’t have more than one friend?

Stiles paused mid stroke with his paintbrush and cringed at himself. Chris was grieving. Chris wanted familiarity and support. Chris deserved the kind of friendship he wanted to have, not the kind of friendship Stiles thought he should have.

He told himself these things firmly and sternly, but it didn’t stop the ugly feelings roiling through him as he watched Peter and Chris laughing together across the porch.

It definitely didn’t stop him from dropping his brush entirely when Peter reached out to touch Chris on the shoulder.

“PETER I need a ride to the thrift store!” he blurted.

Peter looked over immediately, brow furrowed.

“I thought you were doing that piece in acrylics?”

“No, it’ll be better as my 3D piece,” Stiles answered, thinking fast. “The thrift store always has weird shit in their craft section, I want to go see if they have something suited to this.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! And we can practice that thing!”

Chris looked interested.

“What thing?”

“Oh, it’s an empath and mute thing,” Stiles said dismissively, cleaning up his paints without looking up.

“Some projective empaths can apparently share psychometric memories with their mutes,” Peter explained, digging his keys out of his pocket. “Stiles wants to try it.”

“Oh,” Chris said. “Well, I need to go pick up Allison anyway.”

 _Damn right you do,_ Stiles thought uncharitably.

“We’ll see you two tomorrow night for dinner, right?” Peter said, walking over to help Stiles move his canvas out of the sun.

“Yep,” Chris confirmed, and Stiles had to hide his face for a moment, sure that whatever it looked like wasn’t good.

“Come on Peter!” he encouraged impatiently as soon as they’d stored the canvas. “Let’s go!”

With one last wave, the three of them separated.

* * *

While his original motivations may have been less than honest, Stiles was genuinely excited to go to the thrift store with Peter.

He openly admitted that he was an emotional voyeur. But Stiles could no sooner stop knowing what other people were feeling than he could stop smelling popcorn that someone had microwaved. Stiles figured that if he had to deal with the smell, he’d better get to eat it too. If he had to deal with the sadness and angst, he better get to enjoy the good parts too.

Thus, thrift stores.

His mom had had a particular knack for knowing which items would carry interesting or enjoyable memories. Stiles tried to channel her ability as they walked through the store together.

Eventually, he spotted a hideous old wedding dress hung up on the wall. His eyes lit up and he grabbed  Peter’s hand, tugging him along behind him.

“Okay, if there’s anything here that’s going to have particularly strong emotional memories tied to it, it’s gotta be a wedding dress right? We-“ he paused for a moment. “We probably shouldn’t do this in the middle of the store. Pull it down, and we can take it into a fitting room.”

Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Oh shut up, two men going into a dressing room with a thirty year old second hand wedding dress is _not_ the weirdest thing this thrift store has ever seen.” Stiles flapped an impatient hand at Peter. “Go on, Mr. Inch-and-a-Half-Taller.”

With a casual smirk, Peter draped the dress over his arm and opened the flimsy door for Stiles. No one even batted an eye when he followed after him.

Stiles was already seated on the ground, legs in front of him.

“Okay, he said, brow furrowed. “You sit here next to me, and we’ll both touch the ugly dress with one hand and use the other to hold hands, and we’ll Peeping-Tom our way into a stranger’s wedding day.”

“I love it when you get romantic,” Peter drawled.

“I know, baby,” Stiles said with syrupy sweet sarcasm.

Peter situated himself, making sure the dress didn’t touch Stiles until they were ready. They’d only get one shot at the memory, after all. He draped the dress across both of their laps and took Stiles’ hand.

“Ready?”

Stiles nodded, and reached out to touch the satin.

Peter could immediately tell that Stiles was seeing something else, but Peter himself could feel nothing. He wondered if he should be doing something. Opening chakras maybe-

Suddenly he was in a tiny church, watching a woman walk down the aisle; but the memory flickered in and out, giving him glimpses of the dressing room and the wedding chapel in equal measure.

What didn’t fade out was the overwhelming happiness he felt, as though it were being projected over him like a shroud. The memory on the dress was utterly thrilled- but then the memory shifted. They were in a reception hall, and the vision was no longer flickering; whether that was due to something Stiles had control over or because of something inherent to the memory, Peter didn’t know.

The bride was dancing with the groom, forehead to forehead, peaceful happiness swelling through her. The feeling was familiar but foreign- an intrusion, even if it wasn’t unpleasant.

Another flickering memory brushed past his mind. One of a little boy dressed in the wedding gown and running around a living room while the bride and groom, older now, cooed and took pictures, absolutely delighted.

And that was it.

Peter turned to look at Stiles, a little breathless and very thrown.

“That was…”

“That was a nice one!” Stiles said happily. “How much of that did you see? Did you get the kid in the dress at the end?”

Peter nodded. He couldn’t shake the strangeness of feeling someone else’s emotions.

“Is that what it’s like all the time?” he asked, voice slightly shaky.

Stiles turned to look at him, a thoughtful frown on his face.

“I mean, kind of? I only get actual memories with the strongest emotions, but then again there’s also usually a lot people’s emotions, not just one. So if you balance it out, the emotional intensity is the same, if not the exact emotional experience.” He looked more closely at Peter. “Are you okay?”

Peter was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t like it,” he finally said. His voice was firm, but he looked up cautiously at Stiles.

Stiles shrugged.

“Okay. I can see how it would be weird for someone who hasn’t lived with it. Thanks for letting me try.”

Peter looked at him for another moment.

“You’re not upset?” he ventured.

Stiles looked confused.

“Why would I be upset?”

“This is a huge part of your life. I don’t- and I truly mean this- I don’t think I ever want to take part in that again, unless it’s an emergency.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“And I don’t ever really want to go running through the woods at midnight to eat a raw bunny. I’m pretty sure we’re allowed to do different things, Peter.”

Peter was relieved. He hadn’t even consciously realized that it was something he was worried about, but it was. With an eleven year age difference between them, vastly different childhood experiences, and even a slight discrepancy in species, they were probably never going to have a lot of hobbies in common.

Peter didn’t really believe that was necessary for a successful relationship, but…

It helped to hear that Stiles was on the same page about this.

“You ready? I want to go see if that bedazzling kit is still there.” Stiles stood, dusted his butt off, and then held out a hand to Peter.

Peter took it, hauling himself up and using the forward motion to rub his cheek against Stiles’, dipping down to drag his nose up and down his throat.

Stiles hummed happily, running a hand down Peter’s back.

When they stepped out of the dressing room, an employee was staring blandly at them. She glanced down at the dress and the back up at them.

“You’d do better in an ivory, dear.”

* * *

Cora scrunched her eyebrows from Lydia’s lap while Scott and Isaac both looked toward the front of the house at the same time. Lydia continued reading her book and scratching long fingernails through Cora’s hair while Stiles mouthed “What?” at the three werewolves.

A moment later, though, he felt his dad’s empathic signature coming closer to the house, and smiled. He was supposed to come over later for dinner with everyone, but he must have gotten off early.

The other three still looked confused, but after another minute there was a knock.

Stiles hopped up and went to answer the door, flinging himself forward into a hug as soon as it opened. When he looked over his dad’s shoulder, he stilled completely

“What- that-” Stiles stuttered for moment before finally pulling away from his dad to move around him. “Mom’s Jeep,” he said, shocked.

John cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I know you don’t have your license yet, but you could now, if you wanted. And if you wanted, you could also have your mom’s old car.” He shuffled his feet for a moment, glancing back into the house before quickly pulling the front door all the way shut for a moment.

“I know it’s not one of her paintings,” John said, voice tight. “And that I’ll never be able to apologize enough for that- but you can have this. If you want.”

“Dad-” Stiles voice broke, and in the end he just nodded. John pulled him in for another hug.

A couple of minutes later they parted, and Stiles opened the front door again to call for everyone to come look at his new car.

John popped the hood so Savage Grandma and Joseph could take a look, while Scott, Cora, and Isaac looked at the stereo, Peter checked out the airbags, and Lydia tutted at the color.

Stiles was so happy, bouncing in everyone’s excitement as well as his own happiness at having this piece of his mother back, that he didn’t notice anyone else arriving.

However, eventually he caught a wave of twitterpation, and looked up to see Allison blushing at something Isaac, or possibly Scott, or more likely both of them had said.

Stiles wasn’t touching that with a ten foot pole.

But he did look for Chris… and of course, found him right next to Peter. He clenched his fists as they leaned over the engine together, Chris explaining something to Peter.

“Green’s not a good color on you,” a voice whispered in his ear, and Stiles jumped back before scowling at his dad.

“This coming from the man I’ve seen tuck in his sweatshirts,” Stiles retaliated.

“Petty ad-hominem attacks aren’t a good look either,” John said casually, stepping up to bump shoulders with his son. They were both silent for a moment before John spoke again.

“It doesn’t feel good, does it? Jealousy.”

“I’m not jealous,” Stiles said, sounding petulant even to his own ears. John just raised an eyebrow. Stiles hid his face behind his hands. “Oh God, Dad, I’m _so jealous._ It’s awful. There’s not even anything to be jealous of!”

John put an arm around his son’s shoulder and pulled him away to walk around the yard for the illusion of privacy.

“Have you talked to Peter about it?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Stiles said grudgingly. “It’s only a matter of time now, though.” He glanced back at the Jeep and sure enough, Peter was angled with his ear toward Stiles and John. Stiles didn’t even blame him.

John gave his shoulders a little squeeze.

“Growing pains,” he said plainly. “You’ll get it worked out. But…” John sighed, and then turned to face Stiles directly. “Do you understand now?”

Stiles was confused.

“Understand what?”

“Why it would have been cruel to ask Peter to stay. Peter isn’t even dating Chris, Stiles, and look at how you feel.”

Stiles’ stomach sank like a rock. He looked back at Peter again, who was looking straight at him now with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah,” Stiles whispered. “Yeah, I understand.” He truly, finally did.

After dinner, John got a ride home with Chris and Allison. They were already talking about going to the range together as the got into the car.

Peter approached Stiles on the porch, wrapping him up from behind as they watched the tail lights fade down the driveway. He said nothing, simply nosing behind his ear to scent mark. Stiles put his hands over Peter’s.

“I get it,” Stiles said eventually, into the quiet night air. “You had to go.”

“I should have talked to you,” Peter murmured into his ear. “But yes. I did have to go.”

Stiles turned around inside Peter’s arms, and brought his own up behind Peter’s neck.

“I don’t want you to stop being friends with Chris, but it might take me a while to stop being jealous.”

Peter gave him a little smile.

“I think it’ll probably help if Chris branches out a little; I certainly don’t want to go to the gun range with him. He needs more friends anyway.”

Stiles nodded thoughtfully.

“Can we kiss?” he asked. “Like, really kiss? I know our age difference is hard for you, but-”

He was cut off by Peter’s mouth descending on his, seeking permission for entrance. Stiles immediately parted his lips, feeling Peter’s tongue slide between, and moaned at the sensation.

His hand reached up to card through the short hairs on the back of Peter’s head, and Peter’s hands reached around to Stiles’ lower back, pressing him closer. The kiss deepened further, both of them getting lost in it, giving in to being surrounded by each other. Peter’s chest rumbled out a deep growl-

“Oh shit!”

Stiles yanked his head back, swinging around to see Lydia standing on the porch, just outside the front door, clearly getting ready to leave. She was staring at them, mouth still open from her exclamation. Stiles glanced back at Peter just in time to see his eyes switch from glowing to human. Something that Lydia had definitely also seen.

“Uh-”

“Oh thank God, does this mean I can stop pretending I don’t know anything now?” Lydia said, shoulders slightly slumped in relief. “It is _so_ exhausting, pretending to be an idiot. I’m over it. You guys are awful at hiding.”

Cora was standing in the doorway, mouth hanging open.

“You knew?” she asked incredulously.

“Honey, you use your claws to open clamshell packaging all the time,” Lydia said, in a _duh_ tone. “It would be more surprising if I didn’t know.”

“You weren’t looking!” Cora protested.

Lydia raised her eyebrow.

“Obviously I was.”

Talia stood behind Cora, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Lydia, can we trust you not to say anything?”

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder, affronted.

“Of course!” She paused, hand on her hip. “... I might actually have… _something_ … in my family history. My grandma- well, she wrote some weird things in her diary.” She looked nervous. “Do you guys know anything about banshees?”

Talia sighed.

“You better come back in. Call your mom and let her know you’re staying the night.”

Lydia nodded, pulling out her cell phone. As she flicked through it, she glanced back up at Peter and Stiles, who were still wrapped up in each other.

“Don’t think you won’t be explaining this,” she said sternly. “There is clearly drama that’s been happening here, and I have been shamefully kept out of it. I’ll be getting the _entire_ story.”

Stiles nodded, completely cowed by her tone, and watched her walk back inside, Cora staring at her like she’d lit the sun the whole way.

Peter and Stiles looked at each other, and burst into giggles.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This is where I tell you that I'm pretty sure there's only one more story in this series. 
> 
> BUT. 
> 
> It's going to be a fun, porny, delightful one!


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